


Church Bells

by falconstories



Category: RWBY
Genre: Don't do it, Don't read this if you're a Morning Wood fan, F/M, I'm Serious, You'll be so mad, don't say i didn't warn you if you read it and get mad, i tagged it under glynda/james but it isn't really, i'm not hating on your ship, it was stuck in my head for like three weeks leave me alone, it's the opposite of that, just know i have my headcanons and they go a lil somethin like this, possibly highly based off of the song, this is drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconstories/pseuds/falconstories
Summary: They say the first time, you marry for love.She never felt that was true for her. Really, she had it quite backwards.See, the first time, she married for money. Though maybe it's bold of her to assume it won't also be the last time.
Relationships: Glynda Goodwitch/James Ironwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Church Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WinterSpells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSpells/gifts).



> Let me know what you think! This is a lot different stylistically than what I usually do. Also, I know it's kind of dark, but there might be some more things along these lines in the future. I dig writing her in bad situations that she climbs herself out of (because gods know I can't)

No one could ever say that she wasn’t a strong woman.

In fact, of all the rude things you could say about her - and there were many - you could never call her weak, no matter how much you despised her.

She grew up rough, with a drunken father and a mother that, up until her death, had raised her to be a “proper woman”; that is, to not speak unless spoken to, to never let anyone see her cry, and to always, always be the most beautiful woman a man could want. When her mother died, she took over as the woman of the house. She was not yet even seven years old, and was already having to take care of her infant brother, the house itself, attend grade school, and do her best to make sure her father didn’t drink himself into a coma.

This proved a much more difficult set of tasks than even a child would believe, and she barely skimmed by. She spent every waking hour keeping her brother away from their father, and, on bad nights, taking the beatings he gave so that no one else had to.

By the time she was old enough, barely 17, she took her young brother and ran off. She never turned back, and she made a small life for herself, working at a diner for a room and meals for them both. They lived this way for years, until her brother, too, was old enough to go off on his own.

Shortly after, she met someone who would change her life forever: a young military prodigy, ready to save the world. He was almost fifteen years older than her, but he had money and the charm that comes with it. He promised her a life of comfort, and she believed him.

Merely three months had passed before she was walking down the aisle in a flowing white gown, taking his last name and all the burden that came with it.

It was perfect, for the first few months. She did not love him, but she thought that she could learn to. She did everything her mother had taught her; she agreed when he spoke about his opinions, she laughed when he made a joke, and she wore the clothes he said he liked on her. She was the perfect wife. All of his friends were jealous, and in return, she got diamonds and whatever else she wanted. She could learn to love him.

It was her fault, the accident. The reporters said he had thought he saw a person in the road and swerved not to hit them. Though in the car, his grip had been not on the steering wheel, but on her thigh. There were bruises, she noticed, in the hospital. Those and her concussion were irrelevant. He had suffered far worse.

She had asked too much of him. It was her fault.

Half of his body was replaced with metal. Top of the line bionics, just for him. He was cold, and he would not meet her eyes. This was her fault.

The weeks alone in his mansion were the most peaceful. She felt guilt beyond repair; she had cost him a life. Things would not be the same.

This was her fault.

He was released after a couple months, under strict physical therapy routines and medical check ins. She would drive him to every appointment. It was the least she could do.

The pain medicines he took lowered his inhibitions and he was not to consume alcohol. She told him. He did not listen.

She woke up well past midnight to him yelling at her.  _ This was her fault. _ That was fine.

After that, he was never sober. He would drink on the way to appointments. She would not argue.

Then, one day, she did.

He was getting worse, she had said. She had seen this before. It did not end well.

She was ignored. None of her business. Sit down and shut up. This was her fault.

The next time he drank, he had more comments on her attempt to intervene. He wanted to fight. She had to coat on the makeup and make excuses.

It happened again.

And again.

And again.

This was her fault.

She told herself that she had gotten out of this situation once, and she would do it again. The pain pills dissolved quickly in the bottle. One, two, three, four. He drank the entire thing.

The next morning, the conclusion was made that he had taken too many. He had drank too much. He did not know.

She got condolences from the entire city. He was a good man. He would be missed.

She put on her black dress for the funeral, and watched his friends pretend to weep as they lowered his box into the ground.

This was her fault.

She smiled.

  
That was fine.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The General's Wife](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220486) by [WinterSpells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSpells/pseuds/WinterSpells)




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